


Where the River Meets the Sea

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A break for Paul puts his life in the balance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the River Meets the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Compadres #1 and then reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #19 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"A man like that would be hard to forget."_

 

**Part I – Faded Memories, How They Linger…**

 

          Colonel Paul Ironhorse rode along the ridge above Gray Wolf canyon.  Looking out over the rolling pine-covered mountains, broken occasionally by stands of naked aspen and poplars, and an occasional patch of snow, he nodded.  It was a rugged land, but startlingly beautiful.  And it was good to be back in the mountains again.  With only a week to go before Christmas, the air was crisp and cold, the pervasive scent of pine mixing with the smell of leather and horse.  He smiled.  Maybe Blackwood had come up with a good idea after all.

          Glancing down at the digital compass/homing beacon hanging around his neck, he estimated he'd reach the summit of North Peak in less than an hour.  He patted the neck of the gray mixed-breed gelding he rode.  Not bad time, but then he wasn't fighting aliens, or anyone else, along the way.  In fact, there was nothing to distract him except the simple beauty of the landscape, and that was more than enough for the weary soldier.

          He wasn't actually that far from the Cottage – something he had insisted upon.  Ironhorse thought about the people waiting there for him as he urged his mount to continue down the trail and over another section of rough shale.  The members of the Blackwood Project had become so much a part of his life over the past eighteen months that it was hard to believe he'd been regular Army, let alone Special Forces, less than two years ago.  They had seeped in, slowly, inch by inch, until he realized it was already too late.  He'd let himself get too involved.

          Still, at the moment it felt as if he were a million years and miles away from the crazy turn his life had taken since he'd met Dr. Harrison Blackwood. _From Special Forces colonel to military leader of three, no, four civilians_ , he corrected.  Debi was definitely a part of his duties, even if she didn't know all the details of their mission.

          He shook his head.  The responsibility was staggering at times.  He was in charge of the three people who were, in all probability, mankind's best hope to stop an invasion of Earth by alien beings.

          _Too weird_.

          He turned the thoughts off, calling up the simple phonic chant of centering his grandfather had taught him when he'd returned from Vietnam, and concentrating on his objective – the summit of North Peak.  At close to eight thousand feet, it had once belonged to the Modoc.  But, like so much Indian land, it had finally fallen into white hands in the late 1800s.  In an ironic turn of events, a small group of environmentally conscious local citizens had lobbied for, and won, state park status for the once sacred mountain and the surrounding area.  Just occasionally things turned out for the best.

          When he reached the top Ironhorse decided he would sit and spend some time not thinking.  Perhaps he would make an offering to the old sacred ground.  He remembered his grandfather standing at the summit of a similar, but different mountain, far away from this one.  A five year-old Paul Ironhorse stood beside him.

          "Mountains are wise teachers," the old man told his grandson.  "If we're wise enough to listen and to learn."

          Ironhorse wondered if North Peak had a lesson it might share with him.

          He inhaled a deep breath.  He was alone.

          A pang of guilt crept into his thoughts.  He should be back at the Cottage.  He was in charge of security, after all, and here he was, out in the middle of nowhere.

          Not that he really minded working as security advisor on the Blackwood Project.  In fact, he respected and admired all of the project members, but he was used to having time alone.  The extended period of time he'd been with the civilians, working intimately with them, occasionally unsettled him.  That interfered with his ability to do his job, and that was the reason he had allowed Blackwood to talk him into this two-day trip.

          _Well, one of the reasons, anyway_.

          All his life, Paul Ironhorse had been a loner.  In Oklahoma and in North Carolina he had refused to play into the destruction promised by the alcohol and drugs prevalent in the Cherokee communities he had grown up in.  At least he hadn't lived on an actual reservation, but Indian Country in general was still too often a reflection of the reservation experience – poverty, alcoholism, hopelessness.  Instead of giving in, he'd spent his time running through the broken hills of Oklahoma, or in the mountains of North Carolina, honing his body.  He studied hard, forcing himself to answer all the questions in his books, not just the few his teachers assigned.  And he spent as much time as he could sitting with his grandfather, listening to the stories of his people.  Only his mother seemed to understand, she and his grandfather.

          In high school he kept his distance from the other students, even those he played team sports with.  No one realized the extent of his achievements until he graduated a year early and it was announced that Paul Ironhorse was class valedictorian and a state-level athlete.  He had worked his mind and body until they served him unfailingly.

          Determined to conquer the white world next, he applied to West Point, expecting to continue the discipline he'd developed for himself.  He was accepted, and after a final summer with his grandfather, he shouldered a half-full backpack and boarded the Greyhound bus, alone.  At the military academy, the trend only began to change.

          Racially different and a plebe, the young Cherokee had to work harder than the other first-year cadets to earn the respect of the academy officers.  Ignoring the suspicion of his classmates, and the harassment of the older students who'd decided he was a challenge worth taking up, he focused and excelled.  Oh, they tried their best to break him, and there were moments when the young Ironhorse thought they might defeat him, but then he would reach inside and pull up the strength to go on.

          Until he was a senior himself, Ironhorse endured all the hazing and pain dished out by the older students without complaint or visible anger.  The harder they tried to break him, the stronger his resolve grew to not be touched by their actions. He built his walls, learning the texture of each and every brick.

          But there was a slight change.  He met five other young men, three of them cadets who, over the course of four years, grew into friends. 

          The brass watched it all playing out, but they didn't interfere, quickly gaining a respect for the young man's resolve, control, and strength.  He graduated third in his class, and thanks to the urging of the then Major Wilson, the new second lieutenant entered the world of the Special Forces.  After all, how could it be any worse than what he had already endured?

          Paul smiled to himself.  It was worse, but it was also the greatest challenge he'd ever faced, and he survived.  While at the Point Ironhorse attended the Army Airborne and Ranger programs, then moved to more specialized training.  He had wound up learning more about himself than he really wanted to face, a knowledge he was then asked to take into the jungles of Vietnam.

          In-country as of 1970, the newbie lieutenant with a new squad under his command was more alone than he had ever been before.  His men thought he was a hard-nosed, by-the-book-ass-kicker who'd struggled up from the bottom of the ranks on his ability to memorize every regulation ever written, and Ironhorse fostered the image.  The only exception was Derriman, and the young officer was wise enough to listen to his First Sergeant and learn a different sort of war than the textbooks had taught him.

          Ironhorse never expected to be popular with his men; he just wanted to keep them alive and accomplish the missions they were given.  But it wasn't long before the majority of his squad had seen through his tough exterior to the man beneath.  They learned a trick – no matter how neutral Ironhorse's face remained, the man could not hide the truth in his eyes when it really counted.  And for the first time, Paul Ironhorse felt like he was a part of something worth dying for.

          But after the war, Ironhorse was as isolated as ever.  Murderer, baby-killer, assassin, they had chanted when he limped off the plane in San Francisco, and a part of his soul was forced to admit that he was all of those things, but he was no longer a green lieutenant, uncomfortable with command.  He was a captain in the Special Forces, and the missions were just beginning – Southeast Asia, Latin America, the Middle East, places more or less known in the national news, and a few he couldn't talk about with anyone, a few he couldn't even remember.

          The newly developed, elite anti-terrorist squad was the perfect assignment for the newly promoted Major Ironhorse, and Paul quickly gained the respect and admiration of the men in his command, as well as that of his superiors.  And although he'd risen to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel – no small feat for a Special Forces officer in peacetime, and an Indian to boot – he still kept a certain distance from his men in the Delta Force unit.  He sighed sadly.

          Perhaps that lack of closeness had been a mistake.  The image of Sgt. Reynolds drifted through his thoughts, and Ironhorse forced it away.  There were always exceptions, and there were always regrets in a soldier's life.

          It was that regret which prompted Ironhorse to take a small step closer to the soldiers in his newly formed Omega Squad.  It was unavoidable.  Fighting aliens wasn't the normal search and destroy operation.  It wasn't even the normal anti-terrorist action. Hand-picked from the ranks of Delta Force, these soldiers needed more reassurance and personal leadership to balance the nature of the enemy they were fighting.  Ironhorse responded with the level of interaction he thought appropriate and, so far, it had been enough.

          Although he never completely allowed his guard to drop, the Omegans saw more sides and depths to the colonel than any of his units in the past.

          And then there were the civilians…  Funny that after a year and a half he still thought of them like that.

          It was the project members who caused him the most discomfort.  They weren't soldiers, they were scientists, thrown into the middle of a nightmare and forced into a quasi-military existence foreign to them.  Suzanne McCullough seemed content to accept his professional face, although he knew she saw beneath it most of the time.  Her overtures after Sara's death had made that clear.  How she managed it, though, he was still trying to figure out.  His soldier's mask provided her with the stability she needed, and he was happy to play that role for her.  It was one he understood.

          Their common ground with Debi made it easier to talk to her about some things.  And one thing Ironhorse had noticed, the longer they waged their private war the greater their need to talk to each other.  The stress was nearly unbearable at times.  As a group they'd become segregated from a normal existence, set apart from the rest of a world which was going about its business blissfully unaware of the struggle being waged on its behalf.

          He and Norton Drake had quickly built a relationship based on respect between two specialists.  Drake occasionally still had trouble with the nature of Ironhorse's profession, but he respected and even liked "the big guy."

          Ironhorse smiled at the nickname.  Only Norton could get away with that one.

          He also appreciated Drake's unfailing good nature and his steady emotions – not to mention that he was just shy of supernatural when it came to his talent for coaxing computers to do his bidding.  All in all, Norton's quiet strength and determination, his normalcy in the face of being handicapped, were all traits to be admired and celebrated, and Paul was proud to call him a friend.  Besides, the man also made the best damned cup of coffee he ever had the pleasure to sample.

          As usual, Paul found Harrison Blackwood, the eclectic, moody leader of the project, at the root of the problem.  Blackwood wanted inside.  He wanted to know what made Ironhorse tick in the most intimate detail.  Like a spectrum analysis from some distant star, Harrison Blackwood broke Ironhorse into thin bands of color that stripped the layers of his soul away and left him standing naked in front of the astrophysicist… or at least Blackwood tried.

          So far Paul had escaped a good deal of the probing by simply refusing to talk, but the man was persistent.  The bricks were chiseled out one at a time, and the longer he was with the project, the more of his protective walls he knew he'd lose to Harrison's bottomless curiosity.

          Given the man's nature, it was no surprise that Harrison first noticed the Colonel's discomfort, bluntly asking if Ironhorse was getting bored with their company.

          "No, of course not, Doctor," he had replied.

          "Then what is it?"

          Ironhorse turned away, pacing.  He didn't want to talk, but the more he tried to avoid it the more Blackwood was going to push.

          "Colonel," Harrison chided.  "What is it?"

          _Damn, damn, damn_ , Pual thought.  It was no use, he might just as well get it over with.  "It's just…  I could use some time al— To clear my head."

          "That's it?"

          "What?" Paul asked.

          "You mean to tell me you've been acting like a wolf in a cage because you need some time alone?"

          Ironhorse stiffened.  "I don't _need_ it, Doctor," he snapped.  "I simply said—"

          "Why don't you take a few days off?"

          The black eyes narrowed.  "Blackwood, I'm responsible for the security of this project.  If you think—"

          "Oh, come on, Paul.  I'm not suggesting a trip down the Amazon, although it sounds like a lot of fun.  Don't you think?  How about a day or two to yourself someplace close by.  I'm sure Omega can look out for the project without you for a couple of days.  There hasn't been any activity in over a week, and it's almost Christmas, so, go on!"

          Ironhorse had argued the same points in his own mind, but his responsibilities were too great for him to just pack up and take off for a few days.  If something were to happen…

          "I still have Clayton's old cabin—"

          "Harrison, I know you mean well, but—"

          "Look, consider it an order from your commanding officer.  I am your boss, right?  So, I'm _ordering_ you to take two days off.  It'll improve your disposition."

          "And just what the hell's wrong with my disposition, Mister?" Ironhorse demanded, his voice rising.

          "You want the whole story or the _Reader's Digest_ condensed version?"

          Ironhorse turned to glare at Norton Drake as he rolled in to join the pair in the living room.  Harrison gave the man a covert thumbs-up.

          "There's nothing wrong—"

          "Colonel, you've been acting like a bear with his paw in a trap the last few days.  You thought about taking a few days off?"

          Ironhorse's hand rose and fell with a wave of frustration.  "It's a conspiracy, that's what it is."  He glowered at the two men.

          "Think of it this way; we're not doing it for you, we're doing it to give ourselves a vacation from all the military brewhaha."  Drake smiled, obviously pleased with himself for having come up with that particular interpretation.

          Later that same day, when Mrs. Pennyworth, Suzanne, _and_ Debi told him the same thing, Ironhorse knew it was a conspiracy.  He also knew he was going to lose this particular battle.  They had all decided that he needed a vacation, and they were determined to see that he got it – one way or another.

          If he refused, they'd simply make his life unbearably miserable.

          Ironhorse saved them the trouble and agreed to go, provided, of course, that he could get their cooperation on a few things.

          "Like what?" Harrison asked suspiciously, folding his arms across his chest in a manner that grated on the soldier's nerves.  Blackwood knew it, too.

          "First, _I_ decide where I go, which will be someplace close enough for Omega to pick me up if Norton picks up any alien transmissions."

          "What else?" the astrophysicist asked.

          "I'm only going for a maximum of forty-eight hours."

          "Sounds like you've already planned it all out, Paul," Suzanne said, studying the man's angular, handsome face.  "What's it going to be?"

          "A short trip to the mountains," Ironhorse said succinctly.  "The rest is need to know, and—"

          "We don't need to know," the three chorused together, then smiled smugly.

          _Civilians_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Here you go," Norton said, holding up a small black box dangling from a nylon cord.  "This is a tracking device so we can keep an eye on you.  You wear it around your neck.  It has a built in digital _and_ lensatic compass – that's what you soldier types prefer, right? – so you won't get lost."

          "I _won't_ get lost," Paul said emphatically.

          "This," Drake continued, ignoring the interruption, "is a high-powered radio – in case there's trouble."

          Ironhorse nodded.  He knew "trouble" was a two-way proposition.  With the radio he could reach them and, more importantly for him, they could call him if things went bad at the Cottage.  Taking the two devices, he slipped the tracking beacon around his neck with a sigh, then tucked the radio into the backpack-turned-field kit.

          "Be careful," Suzanne said.  She was glad he was taking the time off, but spending it in the mountains, in late December, sounded like anything but a vacation.  Still, the weather reports were calling for clear skies over the next few days.  He would be fine, and they would finally have the time they needed to get his presents wrapped up and put under the tree without any worry of about getting caught.  The man was an absolute pain-in-the-butt when it came to some things.

          "You'll be back by Christmas, right?" Debi asked, concerned.  Her father had already canceled the trip she'd been planning to take to visit him and, with the colonel leaving, she felt more than a little betrayed.  Their first Christmas together had found each member of the project away from the Cottage, and each other.  Debi was determined that this year they were all going to be together for a "family holiday."

          Ironhorse nodded, understanding her feelings.  "I'll only be gone two days."

          "Where're you going?"

          He smiled down at the thirteen-year-old and briefly considered taking her along, but it was dangerous and if anything should go wrong…  No, it was just too risky.

          "Omega will drop me off at Ridgeville, a little town at the bottom of North Peak summit."  He led her to a window and pointed to the tallest of the mountains they could just make out from the Cottage.  "It's the tall one, there.  I'm going to take a horse and ride up to the summit, spend the night, then ride back to Ridgeville where the squad can pick me up.  Thirty-four hours, round trip.  I'll be back in time for dinner tomorrow."

          "Okay," the girl said, satisfied.  "Colonel?"

          "Yes, Debi?"

          "Can you bring back some pine cones for us to tie on the Christmas tree?" she asked shyly, having been told more times than she could count by her mother not to ask the man for things.

          He smiled.  "Sure."

          Harrison watched Paul as he attached the sheath for the battle baton and holster for his M9 Beretta to his belt, then inserted the weapons.  Ironhorse was a man of contradictions, the astrophysicist decided.  He was friendly and open with Debi, but Harrison knew he could have spent days pestering the soldier about where he was going and never gotten the details she had with a single, simple question.  He shook his head.  One day he would find a way inside the man's walls.

          After Christmas, he'd discuss all of them taking a short vacation away from the Cottage.  It was dangerous, but it was something they needed to keep their spirits up.  Like Ironhorse, they could carry homing devices and radios while they were gone.

          Blackwood decided he could use a trip back to the New Pacific Institute himself, or maybe a few days up in Portland, visiting Sylvia.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse shifted his weight to aid the sturdy gray gelding as he maneuvered sure-footed down a section of loose shale.  It was good to feel the horse moving under him.  Of all the ways he'd escaped the oppression hanging over the Oklahoma community he spent a part of his youth in in, late afternoon rides were among his most vivid memories.  Racing the buckskin gelding his grandfather had given him along the hills, stopping only to watch the sun slip over the horizon before racing back home, transported him to a time when there was dignity in the color of his skin.

          A sharp pain exploded in the Colonel's head just before he heard the crack of the rifle.  Thrown from the gray's back, Ironhorse slid down the shale embankment.

          Trying desperately to stop his fall, Paul locked his knees, digging the heels of his cowboy boots into the loose rock.  One heel caught, but it wasn't enough, and he continued forward, wrenching his ankle painfully in the process.  He picked up speed, rolling farther down the slope.

          A few moments later Ironhorse lay prone, waiting for the world to stop tumbling as he forced air back into his lungs.  A second rifle shot rang out, the bullet sending shards of rock flying nearby.  Covering his face to protect his eyes from the splinters, the soldier rolled away. A sharp stab of pain in his calf accompanied the third crack of the rifle.

          He ground his jaws together and scrambled as fast as the already swelling ankle and numb leg wound would permit for the cover of some evergreens growing nearby.  The drop-off, obscured in the shadows of the tall trees, caught the soldier by surprise and he tumbled out into space.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Mom!  Dr. Blackwood!" Debi yelled, racing to the doorway of Suzanne's lab.         Harrison looked up from where he'd been studying a series of slides Suzanne had prepared.  He'd been hovering in her lab, pestering the microbiologist for the better part of an hour.  With the Colonel gone – Harrison automatically checked the clock – all of eight hours, the Cottage seemed unusually quiet everywhere else.

          "Debi, what's wrong?" Suzanne asked, looking up from her notes.

          "It's the Colonel's tracking light," she stated, twisting her blonde ponytail anxiously.

          "What about it?" her mother questioned.

          "It went off."

          Harrison felt his stomach clench into a tight fist.  Rising, the two adults followed the girl back to the computer terminal.  Norton was out, having left the girl in charge of monitoring the Colonel's progress while he went for more coffee beans to grind.  She had come down about an hour after Ironhorse had started his ascent on North Peak.  Watching the blinking, horse-shaped cursor as it slowly moved along the topographical curves outlined on the screen helped her pass the time.

          Blackwood checked the glowing computer screen.  The flashing blip was absent.

          "What now?" Debi asked, the serious tone of her voice reminding him of Suzanne.

          "Hey, what's up?" Drake asked, wheeling in from the elevator to find three stricken faces.  "The Colonel leaping mountain peaks with a single bound?"

          "We've lost Paul's signal."

          The computer expert frowned.  "Gertrude, home base," he ordered the motorized wheelchair.  Moving to the keyboard, he typed out a series of commands.  A minute later he looked up, concern shining in the black eyes.  "Nothing.  There's absolutely _nothing_ wrong with the computers, or the program.  The transmitter's failed for some reason."

          Mrs. Pennyworth leaned into the room, wagging a finger at Debi.  "So, there you are, young lady.  I thought we had a date to decorate a Christmas tree."  The worried expressions on the four faces chilled her.  "What's wrong?"

          "We've lost contact with Ironhorse," Harrison supplied.

          The older woman nodded her understanding and left them alone.

          "He has a backup – the radio," Norton commented to no one in particular.  "So, why doesn't he use it?"

          "Maybe he doesn't know he's no longer transmitting.  Could there be something wrong with the device?" Suzanne asked.

          "I suppose elephants might have trampled it, but I highly doubt it.  I checked all that stuff over _real_ close."

          Blackwood paced around the room.  "Can you call up a topographical to see exactly where the last transmission came from?"

          Drake nodded, hunching over the keyboard.  Less than a minute later, the screen shifted, showing a section of a three-minute map with a blinking cursor marking Ironhorse's last known position.

          "Pretty rugged terrain.  He's what?  About an hour from the summit?"

          Norton nodded.  "What're you thinking, Harrison?"

          Blackwood met Suzanne's worried look with one of his own.  He wasn't sure he should voice his fears with Debi there, still…

          "You think he had an accident?" the girl asked.

          Blackwood nodded.  "It's the only logical explanation besides equipment failure." He left the possibility of the aliens rattling around in his mind.  There was no reason to even contemplate something that terrifying.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was almost dark when Ironhorse woke.  His head and leg throbbed in painful harmony, his chest burned, and the general ache everywhere else made his return to consciousness most unpleasant.  He estimated he'd been unconscious for nearly an hour.  _Too long_.

          Somewhere in the back of his mind, the eight steps of survival began to drone with the same pounding cadence he'd heard when Sergeant Samthers drilled them into him before his first tour of Vietnam.

          One, size up the situation…   _Poor_ , Ironhorse concluded sarcastically, _but far from bad.  At least for now_.

          He wanted to survey the area for whoever had shot him, but the second step of survival interrupted – undue haste is unhealthy.  The immediacy of his injuries made a search impossible, but the nagging fear that it was aliens behind the attack added to his anxiety.

          Paul inventoried.  Ankle:  wrenched, not broken.  The tight cowboy boot held the swelling in check so he left it alone.  The wound in his upper calf had dumped a considerable amount of blood, and he moved slowly along the rough ground, away from the pooled liquid, which he covered with a few handfuls of loose dirt, spreading it out to hopefully keep his attackers from tracking him.  The cold weather was aggravating the problem, thinning his blood and making it harder for the wound to clot.

          At least he was still wearing his backpack, which held his first aid kit and the radio.  He smiled thinly.  It was too late for Omega to fly a chopper in and get him.  One way or another he was stuck until morning, but if he didn't get the bleeding stopped…

          Shrugging the pack off with a grimace, he removed the first aid kit.  Then, using his battle baton, he cut his jeans along the seam to the knee, peeling the denim back off the entry wound.  There was no exit wound.

          His hands trembling slightly, Ironhorse opened the plastic box and removed the bottle of povidone-iodine.  Pouring it over the seeping opening caused him to suck in a sharp breath.  When the wave of pain subsided, he removed several of the individual dressing pads and pressed them against the injury, hoping the pressure would be enough to stop the flow of blood.

          He was down to the last of the dressings before it finally stopped, and he tied the compress bandage down tight, hoping he wouldn't have to make any long hikes.

          The inventory continued.  Hips were fine.  He probed his abdomen.  Bruised, but no internal injuries as far as he could tell.  That was good news.

          Ribs?  He touched gently.  "Aaggh," he hissed.  Cracked, maybe broken.  _Damn_.

          Opening his jacket and unbuttoning the thick flannel shirt with difficulty, Ironhorse pulled the blue thermal t-shirt up to find a large, spreading, purple bruise along his right side.  _Great_.

          Rest of the upper body:  Okay.  Back… _seems okay_.

          Eyes:  fuzzy.

          Ears:  ringing.

          Neck… _feels like someone tried to twist it off_.

          He touched his fingertips to the side of his head just above the left ear and they came away sticky with blood.  A graze, and probably a mild concussion.

          What were the symptoms?  He'd lost consciousness, and the headache slamming against his temples agreed with his diagnosis.  Ironhorse's teeth chattered.  Third step of survival – remember where you are.  Ironhorse glanced around.  He had been about an hour away from the summit of North Peak; now he was about a hundred and fifty feet below that last position – at least.  More importantly, he was in the open.  _Past time to move_.

          Reaching for the compass/homing beacon lying nearby, half-buried in the loose dirt, he managed to grab it before a wave of nausea forced him to lay back.  Holding the device above his eyes, Ironhorse scowled at the smashed face.

          "Great."

          Closing his eyes for a moment, he concentrated on slowing his breathing, then tried to push the queasiness away.

          Survival, step four – vanquish fear and panic.  But if they were aliens… _No.  Don't think about that_.

          He had to find shelter.  Not only might the person, or persons, who took a shot at him show up to see what they'd hit, but the temperature was dropping rapidly.

          _The sun's just set_ , he concluded, opening his eyes and noting the scattering of stars twinkling above him in a pale violet sky.  Clouds were building in the west.  He thought about the gelding and the warm sleeping bag tied on the back of the animal's saddle.

          Sitting up as carefully as he could, Paul re-packed the first aid kit in his backpack, then, reaching into his rear pocket, he pulled his handkerchief free and tied the discarded bloody gauze pads in it.  The ground was too hard to dig a hole to bury the materials, but he hobbled to a nearby pine tree and tied the handkerchief to one of the boughs, hidden from view if the shooter arrived, and away from many of the curious noses of the local inhabitants.

          Then, reaching into the backpack, Ironhorse took out the second black box and opened it.  Inside was the small two-way radio.  It appeared undamaged.  He turned it on and tried to tune it to something other than static, but he failed to find a clear channel.  Looking around, he wasn't sure if it was the ravine blocking the transmission, or if the radio was damaged internally.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "The radio isn't working," Norton grumbled.  "What good is it, if you can't talk to someone?"  No one bothered to answer – two hours of waiting had left them all on edge.

          Harrison turned and stared at the man.

          "What?" Drake asked.

          " _Why_ wouldn't the radio work?"

          Norton's brow furrowed.  "Well, I'd guess the most obvious answer would be… it's broken."

          "What else?"

          The man's brow wrinkled further, then smoothed when he realized what his friend was fishing for.  "I suppose there might be some sort of interference—"

          "That's it!" Blackwood said, moving to the computer.  He tapped the screen emphatically.  "See?  Look.  Paul was here, right?"

          "Yeah," Norton agreed.

          "Look at this."

          The two men leaned in closer to the screen.

          "A ravine," Drake said, nodding.  "If he ended up down in that, it could explain the radio silence.  I don't think a signal could get out of there; it's too steep."

          Harrison nodded.  "He's down there, Norton.  I can feel it."

          "Harrison," Suzanne said, stepping in to join them.  "Sergeant Derriman's in the living room."

          "I'm on my way."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse moved into the cover of the trees, the fifth step of survival whispering in his ears – Improvise.  He actually knew what he was looking for, and it wasn't long before he smiled weakly and hobbled over to a particularly large pine tree.  In years when the summers were dry and the winters particularly hard, the local deer population resorted to the evergreens for graze to stave off starvation.  The trees, stripped of their lower boughs, still sported long, thick limbs out of reach of the animals, some of which had grown back to their full length as the deer were hunted out or supplemented with hay air-dropped by concerned state park officials.

          Pulling up the boughs and ducking beneath the lowest branches, Ironhorse found himself in a perfect, if short, ring of space, protected by the thick pine boughs.  Lowering himself to the ground, he was relieved to find it almost dry.  Interweaving the prickly smaller branches created a snug temporary shelter.

          When he finished, Ironhorse leaned back against the trunk of the tree and tried to catch his breath.  Along the peripheral rim of his vision a blackness began to constrict.

          _No_.  He shook his head.  _I can't pass out now_.

          Reaching up, he pushed the black hair off his forehead.  He was sweating, but his skin was cool and clammy.  _Oh, wonderful.  Shock_.

          The sixth rule of survival stated itself with authority – value living.  Ironhorse did, and he quickly set his mind to recalling everything the _Armed Forces Survival Guide_ said about shock.

          He closed his eyes, and for the first time in his life he wished he could pull a tuning fork out of his pocket and stimulate his own memory.  It was getting harder to concentrate.

          Early symptoms included restlessness.  _Okay, that's one_ , he thought.

          _Rapid pulse?  Check_.

          _Pale skin?_   Ironhorse almost giggled.

          "That does it," he mumbled aloud.  "If I'm ready to laugh at a pun that bad, I have to be in shock."

          _And I'm definitely cold and clammy and short of breath_ , he acknowledged silently while he waited for a chill to subside before contemplating building a small fire in the shelter for warmth.  He needed to make sure he didn't add to his problems with a case of hypothermia.  The temperatures would drop into the upper 20s or low 30s, and the wind had begun to pick up, whiffling cold through the small space, first from one direction, then from another.

          _Bad sign_.  The weather was changing.

          Having convinced himself that it was necessary to build the fire, Ironhorse reached for his backpack, then paused, catching the sounds of two men moving through the stand of timber.

          "Damn," the soldier breathed, listening to them draw closer.  He could hear two voices, but their words were lost to distance and the wind.  _So much for a fire_.

          He reached to ease the M9 out of its holster, but it was gone, lost in the mad tumble down the shale slope.  He settled on the battle baton.

          The giggle made a second attempt at bubbling over the Colonel's lips.  His favorite rule of survival, number seven – act like a native.  Remembering how his grandfather explained the Plains Indians willing themselves to blend into the tall grasses while they waited for the grazing herds of mustangs to wander close enough to lasso one, Ironhorse took the seventh rule seriously and willed himself to merge with the old pine.

          The footsteps drew progressively louder, passed, and finally faded off into the blackness.  Only then did the soldier allow himself to relax again.  If he could just stay where he was, Omega would find him in the morning.  With the tracking device destroyed, the rest of the Project would know something was wrong.  Harrison would notify Derriman.  The sergeant would know it was too dangerous to try and fly into the area after dark, but they'd be at his last known location at first light, and Stavrakos wouldn't have any trouble following the signs he'd left straight to the shelter.

          It was back to regular Army operations, he thought.  Hurry up and wait.

          Ironhorse shivered.  The shock was still there, and he was getting progressively colder, but movement and a fire were too dangerous.  He'd just have to tough it out and hang on until daylight.

          Reaching up, he quietly unzipped his jacket, opened his shirt collar, and loosened his belt.  He didn't want to sweat if he could help it.  The moisture would steal away his body heat.  What else was he supposed to do to treat shock?

          His head was elevated…  He tucked his hands under his arm, hoping it wouldn't get so cold that he'd need to worry about frostbite.  The nausea was still with him, but he hadn't eaten since before he left Ridgeville.

          Glancing at the canteen tied to the backpack he considered trying some water, but if it made him sick…   _Pass_ , he concluded.  _Last thing I need is a case of the heaves giving away my location_.

          Needing to concentrate on something to keep himself awake, Ironhorse settled on a list of Harrison Blackwood's most annoying habits.

_He never listens to me._

_He's a damned vegetarian._

_He never listens to me._

_He's the only man I know who carries a damn tuning fork around with him._

_He never listens to me…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison tugged at his itching earlobe and decided it was time to check in with Norton.  He smiled encouragingly at Suzanne and patted her on the shoulder.  "You okay?"

          She nodded.  "I just hope he's all right."

          "Me too."

          The microbiologist cast a worried look at her sleeping daughter.  The girl, knowing they were in for a long night of waiting, had quietly stolen off to the living room, and, curling up in the Colonel's chair with the latest book he'd lent her, had finally fallen asleep.  When Suzanne had found her there later, she didn't have the heart to wake the girl.  Instead, she took the quilt from the back of the couch and covered her, leaving just the blond hair reflecting in the firelight.

          After adding a log to the blaze, Suzanne began her own vigil from the couch.

          Norton had stayed with the computer and the radio, just in case Paul tried to contact them.  Derriman and the rest of Omega A and C squads were busy with preparations to fly out to Ironhorse's last known location in the morning.  The B squad would remain at the Cottage for security.

          Derriman wasn't thrilled that he'd have Harrison and Suzanne along as passengers, but he'd quickly learned that it was impossible to keep the civilians at the Cottage if there was anything concerning aliens or the Colonel's welfare at stake.

          Harrison split his time roaming back and forth between the living room and the computer lab.  Never good at waiting, the astrophysicist knew he was probably driving his two friends crazy, but he just couldn't sit still and do nothing.

          Rising from the couch, he smiled apologetically and headed off to see Norton.  Suzanne watched him go, wondering if she was more concerned about how Debi or Harrison would take the news of Paul's death.

          Ironhorse was something of an enigma, but he was their enigma, and damn it, she didn't want to lose him.  For whatever reason, Debi looked at the man like a substitute father, and she herself relied on his quiet strength and steady determination to keep her sanity grounded.

          Harrison had found in the man the close friend he'd denied himself most of his life.  She heard Blackwood stop by the Colonel's office, pausing outside the door without entering.  Perhaps he was more than a friend, she decided.  Norton and Harrison were close, and she considered herself one of the astrophysicist's friends, but Blackwood's relationship with Paul was something more.  There were times she wished she understood it better – like when they appeared seconds away from killing each other – but then, she usually wished she understood one of the two men almost all the time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Anything?" Harrison asked softly.

          Norton continued to rub his eyes as he replied, "Not a peep.  I have to tell you, Doc, I don't like it."

          "I'm not that thrilled myself.  I never should have pressed him into—"

          "Harrison, we all talked about it, and we _all_ decided he needed a couple of days away from the civilians, so don't start blaming yourself for this, capice?"

          Blackwood smiled his thanks at the man.  Norton was usually able to set him straight when he started taking too much on himself.  He nodded.  "Derriman said if we leave just after five in the morning we'll be at Paul's last location by daybreak."

          "You sure you want to go?"

          "I have to, otherwise I'll drive myself crazy pacing between here and the living room.  To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you and Suzanne haven't tied me down yet."

          "Believe me, Doc, the idea's crossed our minds more than once, but right now I think it would be hard to pin any of us down."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse's head jerked up, a vise of unsettling agony tightening around his head and causing him to moan.  He'd been sleeping.  _Bad move_ , he chided himself.

          The wound in his leg burned with an unending fire, and it was getting harder to breathe.  Checking his watch, he found the face distorted and unreadable.  He closed his eyes, then tried to re-focus.  In the glass face images from his past reflected in the dim light falling through the pine.

          The moon was falling!

          He gasped, squinting through the higher branches, watching as the white descended lower…  He blinked.  Snow.  It was just snow.

          Holding his wrist with the other hand he forced himself to stare at the watch face until a time emerged – 0415.  Omega would be at his location at first light.

          _Come on, concentrate_ , he chided himself.  _Dawn… when is it?_

 _About 0630…  Two hours, then time to find me… so, three hours to go. Piece of cake_.

          The snow, heavy with moisture, collected on the branches, weighing them down.  Ironhorse watched as the boughs closed in around him, and fought back an urge to bolt from the cover.  This was _not_ Vietnam.  There were no tunnels, no tiger cages, no pits.

          He remade the image – a sweat lodge, warm and safe.  He closed his eyes and felt the call of sleep.  _No, damn it, stay awake_ , he commanded himself.

          _Piece of cake_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and Suzanne stood in the living room, trying to force down yet another cup of coffee.  Mrs. Pennyworth, Norton and Debi sat, equally nervous, but trying to remain cheerful to help the others.

          "Derriman said he'd come get you when they were about ready to take off.  Why don't you sit down?" Norton suggested pointedly.

          Blackwood leveled his friend with an indulgent look.  "Because I've got enough caffeine and adrenaline in my system to give Ironhorse a run for his money on the obstacle course," he explained.

          Suzanne smiled.  "I just wish they'd hurry up."

          "I looked it up," Debi said softly.

          "What's that, sweetheart?" her mother asked.

          "Sunrise today is at six-forty."

          "Oh," Suzanne said, looking at the dark circles under her daughter's eyes.  A knock at the door ended the nervous conversation.  Blackwood snatched it open on the third beat.

          "Are you and Dr. McCullough ready?" Sergeant Coleman asked.

          Suzanne and Harrison both nodded, acutely aware of what they might find when they arrived at Paul's last location.

          "Let's go, then.  We called in troop choppers since we'll have to winch down.  C-Squad will start from the top and we'll start where we lost contact with the Colonel."

          Suzanne turned slightly pale and Blackwood patted her reassuringly on the shoulder.  "You can stay here.  It's not likely—"

          "I'm going."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The two scientists sat along one side of the Bell UH-1 Iroquois chopper.  Harrison scanned the faces of the five Omegans who rode with them.  Derriman was checking a printout of the topographical map Norton had up on his screen.  Stavrakos sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor of the helicopter.  Alverez and Coleman talked quietly, and Goodson rummaged through the first aid kit he was holding, reassuring himself that everything was in order.  It was a forty-five minute flight, slower than they anticipated due to the heavy moisture in the air, but at least the snow had stopped.

          Harrison cleared his throat and six heads turned to stare at him.  He blushed slightly.  "I have a question," he said over the noise of the engine.

          "Go ahead, Doctor," Derriman said.

          "With the snow last night…"  He studied his hands for a moment before continuing.  "Will you still be able to track the Colonel?"

          "I'll find him," Stavrakos said.

          Derriman smiled thinly.  "Believe 'im.  The man's part bloodhound."

          Harrison returned a grim smile.  "Glad to hear it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The two hunters moved silently through the stand of timber, stopping occasionally to survey the landscape now covered by several inches of heavy, wet snow.

          "You sure he's in here?" the taller of the two men asked, his pale face red from the cold.

          "I'm sure," his companion replied.  Removing his camouflage-colored baseball cap, he pushed sweaty blond hair off his forehead.  "I know I hit 'im – twice.  Damned Indian probably crawled off and found a cave, but we'll find him."

          "Then what, Hank?"

          "Why, we can have us a little fun, Daryl.  Like when we was back in Gallup.  You remember that one ol' Indian we found?"

          Daryl grinned.  "Yeah.  It sure was funny, watchin' him runnin' along the freeway buck naked.  That trucker sure as hell didn't expect to hit a naked Indian.  Old fool should've run the other way.  Just like a damned rabbit, headin' for the headlights like that."

          The pair snickered softly.  "Come on, let's go find that he-squaw," Hank directed. "Who knows what we'll come up with for this one."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat, his back pressed against the tree trunk, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, his forehead resting on his knees.  Shivering, he concentrated solely on remaining awake.  It was almost dawn.  Omega would be there in an hour or so.  He had to remain conscious that long.

          _How did I let this happen?_ he questioned himself.

_First, I let Blackwood talk me into leaving the Cottage, where my duty is.  Then I rode right into an ambush.  Brilliant._

_Then I couldn't stop myself from sliding down an embankment._

_And, to top it off, I stepped off the side of a cliff!_

_If one of my team did this, I'd kick their sorry ass out of Omega._

_This is going to make for one a helluva Christmas for Debi…  Grandfather, how could I screw up a two day vacation?_

          Above the sound of his own labored breathing Ironhorse heard the crunch of snow.  Looking up, he focused on the sound, willing all other distractions away.

          It was a deer.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The two hunters stood silently behind a large pine, watching the doe as she moved through the trees.

          "Come on," Daryl said.  "It's a doe.  What d'you care?"

          "Look at her," Hank directed, his attention riveted on the animal.

          The doe walked cautiously toward one of the larger pines, her neck stretched out, her nostrils testing the air.  She shook her head from side to side, her tail flicking up to reveal two white flanks.

          "What's she doin'?"

          "She smells something she don't like," Hank whispered.  "You think maybe she found our Indian?"

          The deer stopped, her large brown eyes watching the evergreen with suspicion.  She cocked her head, snorted, then dipped her head and walked off.

          "Look," Hank said, his voice dropping to a mere breath as he pointed to a small puff of steam that curled up from the snow-covered boughs.

          Daryl shrugged.

          "He's in there, and he's breathin'," Hank said, his face twisting into a sadistic mask of pleasure.  Lifting the rifle to his shoulder, he aimed at a spot several feet above the lowest branches and squeezed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse stilled, willing the deer to move on with his mind.  He didn't know if it would work, but he didn't want the animal giving away his location if the shooters were still looking for him.

          In the mythology of some Native people, Deer symbolized gentleness, the power to touch those who had been wounded in heart or mind.  When Deer came, she asked for a gentleness of spirit that healed all wounds.

          He wondered briefly if she wasn't asking him to stop pushing the others in the project to change; to accept them as they were.  Or, was she warning him that he was not willing to love himself enough to let his own fears go?  Or was he protecting his fears from the others?  No, it was the others he feared…

          It was too confusing in his present condition, and Paul tried to turn off the thoughts.

          Love was the tool of Deer.  Love and compassion.  Fear cannot live where there is love and gentleness.  Unconditional love.

          The animal moved off.

          An explosion through the boughs sent snow raining down on Ironhorse as he lunged painfully, pressing himself flat against the cold ground.

          So much for gentleness.

          "Damn," he breathed.

          "Hey, Chief!" a voice called.  "Come on out of there, boy!"

          The soldier ground his teeth together, his eyes narrowing to thin slits.

          "Now, squaw-man, or we start shootin' up that pine until it's kindling'."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          From across the chopper, Harrison gave Suzanne a thumbs-up and stepped clear of the open door.  The members of the squad descended on ropes, each connected to a winch.  Blackwood was glad for his rope-mate's company on the way down.  Coleman's lack of fear and steely determination helped steady his nerves.  He'd have to remember to thank her later.  Attached to another rope on the other side of the helicopter, Suzanne and Derriman descended together.

          When they reached the ground, Coleman quickly detached the lines and their transportation swung off to the south, heading back to a small clearing three minutes away where the pilot could wait until they located the Colonel.

          Blackwood followed Stavrakos as he led the way to the exact location of Ironhorse's last transmission.  They surveyed the rugged terrain.  It appeared that there were millions of places for someone to hide, or disappear into.  Harrison shook off the negative thoughts and glanced back at Suzanne.  She seemed to be thinking the same thing.

          Movement in the trees froze the team, the four soldiers dropping automatically into defensive postures, Uzis coming up in their hands.  Harrison and Suzanne moved in behind a large rock and waited.  With a snort, Ironhorse's gray gelding stepped out of the evergreens, his ears pricked forward.  He nickered at the humans.

          Standing, Derriman walked slowly to the animal and gathered up the trailing reins.  A quick inspection revealed a perfectly healthy, if somewhat nervous horse.  The sleeping bag and saddlebags full of food and equipment were undisturbed.  Then the sergeant scowled.

          "What is it?" Harrison asked, stepping up to join the Omegan.

          Derriman reached out and ran his finger along the saddle skirt.  Holding the blood-smeared digit up, he whispered.  "Trouble."

          "Stavrakos has something," Coleman said, materializing out of nowhere and causing the astrophysicist to jump.  "Sorry, Doctor," she apologized, patting his shoulder with a half-smile.

          "That's quite all right, Sergeant.  Just whistle the next time so I know it's coming."

          "I'll remember that, sir," she replied with a slight smile.

          The two men followed her over to where Stavrakos was crouched, staring at the ground.

          "What is it?" Derriman asked.

          "Looks like the Colonel took a tumble over the side here."

          The older sergeant squatted down and rubbed at the blood on his finger so Stavrakos could see.  "I don't think he fell."

          Suzanne stepped up to join Blackwood.  "What's going on?"

          Harrison shrugged.  "We found some blood on the saddle," he said softly.

          "I'm going down and see if I can find anything else," Stavrakos said.

          Derriman nodded.

          The remainder of the team anchored the dark-haired soldier as he used a coil of rope to make an orderly descent over the side.  At the bottom, the sergeant found the Colonel's M9, the butt sticking up out of the snow.  He held the weapon up for the rest of them to see and motioned them to join him.

          Derriman knotted a second coil of rope to the first, then anchored it around a pine.  Alverez remained at the top of the ravine while the others worked their way down to join Stavrakos, who was already scouting ahead to see which direction Ironhorse had taken.

          Several minutes later a soft birdcall echoed through the still air.  Coleman nodded toward a stand of trees and escorted the two scientists, her gaze wary.

          A few minutes later they came to an abrupt halt and stared at the sharp drop off. It was only twenty-five feet down, and only took them a few minutes to descend with the aid of a knotted length of nylon rope.  Due to the steepness of the drop off, and the trees which grew out of the cliff edge at an angle, some of the ground below was still almost snow free.

          Suzanne turned a frightened gaze on Harrison when she spotted the pool of blood that Stavrakos had uncovered with several sweeps of his gloved hand.  Blackwood wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her along after the sergeant as he set out, a look of grim determination on his face.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A loud crack from a rifle shattered the silence and the Omegans dropped to the ground, Derriman dragging the two scientists down from behind.  They lay for a moment, setting the direction and distance, then rose and headed out at a fast trot.

          " _Now_ , squaw," the voice commanded.  "You just crawl on outta there nice and slow."

          Ironhorse knew his options were extremely limited.  He could stay where he was and get shot when they carried through with their threat, which he was sure they would, or, he could try to escape out the other side of the enclosure, but with his leg in the shape it was, he doubted he'd get far before they shot him down.  The last option seemed the only reasonable course of action – do what they wanted and go from there.

          Not the three best choices he had ever had, but not the worst, either.

          Being as careful as he could with his injured leg, Paul moved out from under the boughs on his hands and knees, the two men snickering as he did.

          "See, what'd I tell you, Daryl.  There's our squaw-man now.  He even knows when it's time to crawl.  Stand up, Chief."

          Ironhorse fought his temper down and tried to stand, but the injury and the stiffness from a night spent on the ground made it difficult.

          Hank stepped forward and grabbed Ironhorse's jacket, jerking him up.

          Stifling a grunt of pain, Paul planted his feet, but was unable to stop himself from swaying slightly.

          "Yeah, Hank, looks like you were right," Daryl said.  "You got 'im a couple times."

          Hank nodded proudly.  "I shoulda put that leg wound higher, woulda made it a lot easier to track him down."

          "You got a name, Chief?" Daryl asked.

          Ironhorse met the man's question with a cold stare that forced the man to take a step back.  It was clear this wasn't the same type of Indian he'd known from the reservations and bars of New Mexico.  Nor was he like the ones Daryl had known in prison in Arizona.

          Hank noticed the look, too, but was unwilling to turn back from the murder he'd been planning since he'd spotted Ironhorse riding along the ridge.  Too many memories of pain and suffering at the hands of two Apache inmates at the State prison in Casa Grand blinded him to the dangerous nature of the man they'd cornered.

          "Come on, squaw," Hank sneered, using the same slur he'd been given while in prison and the "property" of the two Indians who'd abused him.  This was his chance to wipe those memories clean, and the ex-con was not going to turn back.  The fact that he had ended up in prison after raping a fourteen year-old Pima girl never crossed his mind.

          Ironhorse silently sized up the two men.  The one called Daryl was a follower, and scared of Ironhorse and what he might do, if given the chance. The other man was a different story.  The hate burning in his eyes was greater than any Paul had seen since he was nearly beaten to death by the father and brother of a white girl the teenaged Ironhorse had dared to date the summer before leaving for West Point.

          Hank was dangerous, and the soldier knew he'd have to wait for the right opportunity before he tried an escape or he would end up dead.

          "That way," Hank said, jerking the gun to the north.

          Ironhorse hesitated for a second, his mind on the battle baton hidden at the waist of his jeans.  If he could kill the one, the other might be frightened enough to—

          Hank stepped forward and shoved the point of the rifle into Ironhorse's stomach. He dropped to his knees, a wave of agony wrapping around his midsection as the cracked ribs were squeezed under the constricting muscles.  The man flipped the rifle over in his hands, holding the weapon by the barrel, and slammed the stock into the center of the back of the man's wounded calf.

          Ironhorse could not stop the cry that broke out of his throat.  He folded into a ball and dropped into the wet snow.  The cold moisture soaked his jeans and jacket, and he fought from choking as chill and heaves struck at the same time.

          "Get him on his feet," Hank snapped at his companion, enjoying the man's pain.

          Daryl approached the fallen man fearfully, finally reaching down to grab a handful of jacket and pulling Ironhorse to his feet.  The look in the Colonel's eyes made him jerk his hands away like he'd been burned.

          "Walk, squaw, or so help me, I'll gut shoot you right here," Hank growled.

          Ironhorse turned and hobbled off in the direction pointed out, waiting for the opportunity to use the knife.

          _And when I do, it'll be with pleasure_ , he thought grimly, the omen of the deer forgotten.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Eight minutes later, the Omegans and two very worried scientists found the tree where Ironhorse had holed up for the night.  Stavrakos disappeared under the boughs only to emerge carrying the backpack.

          "The first aid kit's been used.  The radio's here, too, but it's all static."

          "Over here," Coleman called.

          They joined her on the other side of the tree, blood spotting the white snow and the signs of a struggle clearly evident.

          "Whoever shot him must've found him," Stavrakos commented, studying the ground like it was a paragraph in a text.

          Derriman nodded.  "They're about ten minutes ahead of us."

          "Then let's go," Harrison said, his stomach a solid knot of worry.

          "Wait," Derriman said.  "We don't know who those people are.  There's only two, but if—"  He let the others fill in the rest.  If it were two aliens who had the Colonel, who could say whether or not he was still human.  "We go slow, and see what the situation is.  Otherwise the Colonel will have our asses."

          Harrison nodded.  He didn't like it, but the man was right.  They had to look for any signs of an alien takeover.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Wheezing by the time they reached a small cabin, Ironhorse was lost in a swirl of disorienting pain.  His entire leg felt like it was on fire, his chest burned with almost the same intensity, and the pounding in his head was enough to block out all the words the man was shouting at him.

          Hank watched as Ironhorse struggled to remain on his feet.  The Indian was a fighter, and he felt a tingle of triumph as he contemplated what it was going to feel like to destroy that will, to kill it.  Reaching out, he grabbed Ironhorse's short black hair, forcing his head back.  The move unbalanced the soldier and he fell to his knees in front of the man.  Growling, he fought to stand again, but he was too weak to overcome the gloating white man.

          "You're goin' to die, squaw-man," the blond hissed.  "You're goin' to die real slow. I'm goin' to take my huntin' knife and gut you, boy.  You think you're tough, squaw?  You're goin' to _beg_ me to shoot you before this is over."

          Hank began laughing, and Daryl, still frightened, backed farther away.

          "Go get my knife," Hank snapped.  "Now!"

          Daryl retreated into the small cabin.

          Ironhorse's mind was racing.  He had to act and act now while one was gone.  Hank solved his first problem – getting back on his feet – when he knotted his hands in Paul's jacket and pulled him up.

          "Can't you talk, Chief?" he asked.  "You _dumb?_ "

          A flash in the corner of his eye fixated the soldier and stalled the retort on his tongue – Omega.  The reality of the situation slipped away, lost in the pain of the injuries and the chaos of months' worth of fighting aliens.

          Ironhorse looked back at Hank, no longer seeing the bigoted white man determined to kill him over the color of his skin.  Instead, he saw a man taken over by an alien – an alien who was now trying to absorb the soldier.

          Daryl was back, handing Hank the hunting knife, his face white with fear.  The ex-con took the long blade, his lips curling off his teeth in a snarling smile.  Jerking Paul's  jacket open, he let his gaze drop to the soldier's mid-section.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and Suzanne moved steadily along with the three Omegans.  In the distance an angry voice, screaming, rolled through the trees.  The words reached them intact on the still air, the contents chilling Blackwood more than the cold.

          "You're goin' to die, squaw-man.  You're goin' to die real slow.  I'm goin' to take my huntin' knife and gut you, boy.  You think you're tough, squaw?  You're goin' to _beg_ me to shoot you before this is over…"  A laugh rolled out after the words.  "Go get my knife.  Now!"

          They pushed to a run.  Reaching the cabin, the two scientists froze, watching in horror as a large blond man handed over a hunting knife to his companion.  The second man held Ironhorse on his feet, the Colonel's face bruised and bloody.  He jerked open the soldier's jacket.

          Harrison was about to scream when Ironhorse's voice ripped through the landscape – an attack cry snapping like ice breaking.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse saw the blade change hands, but the glint of silver was lost to the memory of a refrigeration plant and a three-digit hand reaching for his face, the tips sinking into his flesh with enough force to leave bruises.  _Aliens!_

          With a cry, he lifted his injured leg, driving his foot into Hank's abdomen like he was trying to push it out the other side.  The man flew back, the knife flying into the snow.  The Omegans charged.

          Daryl took a step toward the Colonel.

          Ironhorse, spinning on unsteady legs, growled as his eyes fixed on the man's.  Hands snapping out, he trapped the man's face with one, his elbow colliding with the opposite temple.  Daryl dropped, Ironhorse collapsing in the snow beside him.  Only the soldier's weakened condition saved both hunters from being killed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Omegans quickly had the two men under their weapons, Derriman checking them carefully with a Geiger counter.  He shook his head.  "They're clean."

          He handed the device to Harrison, who held his breath as he ran it over Paul's unconscious body.  What he'd just seen reminded Blackwood more of an alien's strength than a human's.  The needle remained stationary.

          "Thank God," the astrophysicist said with the breath he'd been holding.  He knew Ironhorse was a trained soldier, trained to kill, but that reality did nothing to alleviate the fear that spun in Blackwood.  Ironhorse could kill him.  He'd always known that, but it was suddenly clearer, more frighteningly real.  As easily as Paul poured himself a cup of coffee, he could kill all of them.  "My God," he whispered in a cloud of white mist.

          Coleman removed a flare gun from a holster on her web belt and fired off a shot. It soared into the cloudy sky, then exploded, sending out a spray of red above them.

          Suzanne and Harrison, with Stavrakos's help, lifted Paul to a seated position, the microbiologist checking his pulse and Goodman starting a superficial examination.  Five minutes later Coleman reloaded the flare gun and fired off a second round of green smoke.  This time the sounds of an approaching chopper filled the air.

          "We have to move him over to the clearing," Goodson said, helping Blackwood lift the unconscious man.  Together they carried Ironhorse to the open terrain and held him supported between them while they waited for the chopper to arrive.

          Hovering above them, Alverez accompanied an aluminum litter to the ground.  He took charge of the two captured men while Blackwood and Goodson maneuvered Paul inside the litter.  Goodson rode up with him.

          Once in the chopper, they tossed the ropes out and the rest of the team stepped up and tied themselves off for the ride up.  Harrison stared at the underside of the helicopter until hands grabbed his arms and helped drag him inside.  He crawled across the floor of the shopper, joining Goodson who was trying, without much success, to keep his commander lying down in the litter.

          Harrison reached out and grabbed one of Ironhorse's arms.  How he'd even managed to sit up was a mystery to the astrophysicist.

          "Colonel," he snapped, afraid that Ironhorse would injure himself or one of them in his confusion.  "Lie down, Paul.  You're safe now.  For God's sake, let the corporal work."

          Turning unfocused, dark eyes on the voice, Ironhorse blinked as recognition set in.  "Blackwood?  What 'n hell are you doing here?" he slurred.  "He never listens to me."

          "Looking for you," Blackwood said softly, unsure if Paul could even hear it over the rotor and engine noise.  Feeling the man's strength begin to ebb, he scooted closer, letting Ironhorse's shoulder lean against his own.  A violent shiver passed through the soldier's body as his teeth began to chatter noisily.

          Suzanne joined them, holding out a wool blanket.  Harrison leaned Paul forward and started to wrap the cloth around his shoulders.

          "No," Ironhorse whispered.  "Clothes 'r too wet."

          Sergeant Coleman maneuvered in behind Blackwood, speaking in his ear to overcome the noise.  "He's too wet.  We have to get those clothes off and get him warmed up before he goes hypothermic on us.  We'll be in Ridegeville in twenty minutes, but this won't wait."

          Blackwood nodded.

          Goodson and Suzanne worked to remove Ironhorse's parke, flannel shirt and thermal undershirt while Coleman used the battle baton she found stuck in his waistband to cut the wet jeans off.  Ironhorse tried to help, but he was shaking too much to coordinate his movements.  He finally gave up, allowing the others to do the work for him.

          Watching Coleman through slitted eyes, he noted the blush that colored her cheeks as she worked to remove the jeans.  He'd have to remember that.

          Suzanne gasped when she saw the large purple bruise on Ironhorse's ribcage.  "Oh, Paul."  The various scars that were also revealed made her acutely aware of the man's profession.

          Goodson grunted, saying, "Looks like you cracked a few ribs there, Colonel."

          Chattering teeth was his only reply.

          With the wet garments off, the shivering increased and they wrapped the wool blanket tightly around the man.  Derriman and Stavrakos stripped off their parkas, draping them over Paul's chest and back.  Harrison moved in behind Ironhorse, pulling the shaking man back against his chest, and wrapping his arms around him, careful not to put too much pressure on the injured ribs.

          Suzanne, Goodson and Coleman busied themselves rubbing down the Colonel's legs beneath the blanket, using friction to warm his extremities.  He gasped once when one of them got too close to the bullet wound.

          "Hang in there, Paul," Harrison said quietly into the Ironhorse's ear.  "We've come too far to lose you now.  Besides, we're just getting used to you."

          The soldier grunted in reply.  He'd have to remember that, too.

          "How does he do it?" Suzanne asked, although only Coleman, who was sitting next to her, was able to hear.

          "What?"

          "Where does he find the strength?"

          The sole female Omegan smiled.  "Dr. McCullough, when you've walked through hell as many times as the Colonel has, there isn't much left to kill a man."

          Suzanne looked at the soldier, realizing the woman had walked through a few hells of her own, including the one they all shared now.  She smiled.  Coleman reached out and squeezed her shoulder.  "Don't worry, it's just a little exposure, a few cracked ribs and a bullet in his leg.  He'll be back to regular inspections inside of two weeks.  You watch."

          The microbiologist nodded and silently prayed the woman was right.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A chopper landing near the sheriff's station in Ridgeville caused quite a stir in the small, isolated community.  People came out of the stores and their homes, lining the street as Derriman and Stavrakos jumped out first.  As Stavrakos began arranging for the pilot to return to pick up Alverez and the two men, Derriman concentrated on finding the sheriff as he shouted a hasty explanation for their unconventional landing site.

          Goodson, Coleman and the two scientists laid Ironhorse back in the litter and carried it off, demanding the location of the hospital.

          The sheriff blinked, not knowing who to respond to first.  Murderers?  Hunters?  Hospitals?

          The two Omegans saved him the trouble, piling back into the chopper and lifting off before he could order his deputy to go along.

          Harrison reached out and grabbed the man's arm.  "I said, where's the hospital?"

          "We don't have one," the lawman said, still shaken by the sudden invasion of his peace and quiet.

          "What about a doctor?" Suzanne asked, her fear climbing.

          The sheriff pointed to a small building on the opposite corner.  "That's the Ridgeville Clinic.  We don't have a doctor here, we're on a circuit with three other communities.  Dr. Gables won't be here for another two days, depending on the weather."

          "What do you do if someone gets hurt?" Blackwood stormed, unwilling to believe they might lose Paul due to lack of medical aid.

          The sheriff turned to his deputy.  "Craig, go get Mrs. Story and bring her to the clinic.  I'll go open it up."  He turned back to the others.  "Come on, let's get your man inside.  Emma's a nurse.  She'll help you.  Maybe we can get the doctor over here, if the snow over at Logtown wasn't too bad."

          Once inside the clinic, the others bowed to Goodson's and Suzanne's superior knowledge.  Having put herself through school as a emergency medical technician made her and the medic the closest things to a doctor they had.

          She waited while the medic rubbed the examination table down with alcohol, then draped it with a sterile sheet from the supply cabinet.  After stripping the blanket off, they laid Ironhorse on the table, covering him with fresh blankets pulled off the four beds in the small clinic ward.

          Suzanne was taking his blood pressure when the treatment door swung open to admit an old woman.  She gave the collection of worried faces a once over as she walked to the table.  Looking down at Ironhorse, she frowned at the man's ashen complexion.

          "Who's who?" she asked.

          "I'm Suzanne McCullough," the microbiologist introduced herself.  "This is Harrison Blackwood.  Sergeant Coleman and Corporal Goodson."

          Removing a set of keys from her pocket, Emma fumbled for one in particular, then handed it to Goodson.  "There's a storage closet in the back with a couple of space heaters.  Go fetch them, corporal."

          The Omegan nodded and disappeared.

          "What's his B.P.?"

          "Ninety-five over sixty," Suzanne said.  "Pulse is one-ten and thready. Respiration's twenty and shallow."

          The woman nodded, absently tucking a wayward strand of sliver hair behind her ear.  Harrison couldn't help but smile.  She looked like the archetype for gingerbread-baking, sweet-tempered grandmothers.

          Reaching under the blankets, she found his arm and pulled out the Colonel's hand and checked his nail beds.  With a satisfied nod she returned his arm to the warmth.  Goodson arrived with the heaters and she directed him while he set the taller one at the foot of the table, sliding the long, low model under it, then turned them on.  The shivering dropped off quickly, but Ironhorse continued to tremble occasionally under the blankets.  As the heaters continued to warm the air, that too finally subsided.

          With a short series of directions, the old nurse had Goodson and Suzanne establish a double I.V..  That done, she nodded to the microbiologist to help her as she checked the graze, then folded back the blankets to start at the man's neck and begin a thorough examination from the top down.  When she finished she headed for the drug cabinet.

          "First we get the easy ones cleaned up, then we tackle the hard ones," she announced.

          "What can I do?" Harrison asked softly, hating the feeling that he was merely in the way.

          The older woman looked over her shoulder.  "You two soldiers, go across the street to Dottie's and get us all some big cups of coffee."

          Goodson and Coleman both looked at Blackwood.

          He nodded and the pair stepped out of the treatment room.  Harrison knew one would stay outside the door just in case there was trouble.

          "You two can help me.  The arthritis won't let me tend like I used to, but it can't take the knowledge away.  I'll tell you what to do, and you do it."

          Harrison and Suzanne nodded.

          Blackwood re-evaluated his first impression.  She sounded more like the Colonel than a grandmother.

          Removing a bottle of antiseptic, she handed it to Harrison.  "You clean that scalp wound, then we'll wrap it up.  He's got a mild concussion, so go grab another pillow and stick it under his head to get it elevated a little more."

          She leveled her gaze on Suzanne, her green eyes softening slightly.  "You can move the portable x-ray machine over here for me so we can take a look at those ribs and make sure they aren't broken…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well, that's a piece of good news," the old woman said, smiling at the developed x-ray.  "Just two cracked ribs.  No breaks.  Lucky man."

          "Uh, excuse me, Mrs. Story, is it?" Harrison asked.

          "Yes, but why don't you call me Emma."

          Harrison smiled.  "I'm done here."  She walked over to Ironhorse and helped the astrophysicist as he covered the graze and wrapped more than enough gauze around it to keep the dressing in place.

          Coleman knocked on the door and dropped off the coffee, explaining that she and Goodson would be outside if they were needed for anything.

          Emma accepted one of the cups and took a long sip.  "Ah, that hits the spot.  Now, on to the rest of this."

          Returning to the unconscious man, she directed Suzanne to lift the blankets off his legs.  She probed the ankle first.

          "Suzanne, dear, bring the x-ray over and get a picture of the ankle as it is now.  I'm almost sure it's just a nasty sprain, but there's no use taking chances.  Young man, I'll need your help back here."

          Harrison smiled at the description.

          While Suzanne set up and took the x-ray, all the while hoping she was doing it correctly, Mrs. Story led Harrison to the back room.  She pointed to a surgical bundle on one shelf in the opened closet.  "Take that, and wheel that cart out while you're at it."

          "Yes, ma'am," he said.

          The old woman chuckled.  "I haven't heard that in a few years."

          "What's that, Mrs. Story, uh, Emma?"

          "Ma'am.  I was an Army nurse back in W-W-2.  Even saw some action when our hospital fell behind enemy lines in a Japanese advance in the Solomons."

          Harrison smiled.  "I wondered if you were ex-military."

          "Oh?"

          "Our friend is a lieutenant colonel in the army.  Let's just say that the way you took over the situation reminded me a little of him.  A lot, actually."

          She smiled, returning to the grandmother image.  "I see.  Well, I made it my career, too," she explained as they walked the equipment back to the treatment room.  "After the war I stayed in, ended up head nurse at a M.A.S.H. unit in Korea.  By the time Vietnam was rolling, I was chief nurse in charge of the Evac-Hospital in Da Nang…"  She trailed off, her face wrinkling as she tried to capture a fleeting memory.

          "That's quite an impressive career," Harrison said as they rejoined Suzanne, who was developing the X-ray.

          "Yes, it was.  I retired a full colonel, married an old high school sweetheart who was a widower and we've had a quiet retirement here… until now."

          Blackwood apologized.  "Well, we certainly would've preferred not to interrupt your holidays like this—"

          "The ankle looks good," Suzanne announced, holding up the film.

          "No interruption, Mr. Blackwood."  She looked at the x-ray.  "True enough, Suzanne.  We'll immobilize it, and then there's just one more thing left to do."

          "The bullet?" the microbiologist asked.

          "It has to come out, and we need to irrigate that wound to reduce the infection.  My fingers aren't up to that kind of work, I'm afraid."  She looked Suzanne squarely in the eye.  "You up to it?"

          She paled.  "I— I don't know.  I'm not a medical doctor, I'm—"

          "An expert in physiology, Suzanne.  You've done countless dissections," Harrison encouraged her.

          "But—"  She paused, looking worriedly at Ironhorse.

          Emma joined the younger woman and put a comforting hand around her shoulder.  "Harrison, if you'd leave us alone for a few minutes?"

          The man nodded, and taking his coffee, slipped from the room.

          Handing Suzanne her cup, Emma motioned to her to drink it.  "Suzanne, I know this isn't easy.  It never is when it's someone we care about, but you're going to have to take that bullet out.  I take it you're the only one here with some medical training?"

          "Corporal Goodson's an Army medic, but he's young; I've had more hands-on experience."

          "Well, that's something.  He'll be able to help.  I want you to listen to me.  You know the reasons for getting that piece of metal out as well as I do."

          Suzanne stared at the woman, drawing strength from her presence and words.  She nodded.

          "We have to get it cleaned up before there's a chance for blood poisoning.  We don't want any infection to get ahead of us.  If it should happen that he lost that leg…"  She left the thought unfinished.

          Suzanne looked away.  Mrs. Story was right, and she knew it.  Besides, she couldn't take any chances with Ironhorse's life.  She nodded.  "Let's do it, now.  Before I have time to stop and think."

          Emma Story smiled and patted her shoulder.  "Good girl.  Now go call Corporal Goodson and Mr. Blackwood in.  We'll need both of them."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It took a half hour to prep and twenty minutes to complete the procedure and Goodson and Harrison were both thrilled when the surgery was over.  While Suzanne was able to focus on the task at hand, detaching her work from the body it was being done on, the other two were not so lucky.  They were put to use holding Paul still while Suzanne worked, Mrs. Story helping her by keeping the area free of blood and delivering calm, straightforward instructions each step of the way.

          Only two sounds filled the room while they worked – Ironhorse's ragged breathing and the old woman's steady voice.  Paul, waking as soon as Suzanne began, was able to hold himself still for the most part thanks to a local anesthesia that deadened the pain, but natural reflexes still gave the other two men plenty to do, and they exerted a great deal of energy to keep Ironhorse as immobile as the old nurse demanded.

          When they finished, Emma wiped the sweat from Paul's face and waited for Goodson to tell her the new vital signs.

          "B.P. is one-ten over ninety, pulse one hundred but stronger, and respiration's twenty-four."  He looked at the Colonel, who had opened his eyes.  "If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to step outside for a minute."

          Ironhorse nodded, his attention focusing on the old woman.  "Thank you, Corporal," he breathed airily.

          Harrison and Suzanne grinned at each other.  He was going to make it. He would be fine.

          Emma nodded, watching as Ironhorse studied her face.  "Antibiotics will fight the infection now, and the electrolytes will help balance the rest.  I'll have the Sheriff contact Dr. Gables so he can bring some blood back from Logtown.  The rest is up to him," she told the two scientists, then finally addressed her patient directly as she continued.  "But I don't think this will slow your Colonel down, too much."  She smiled and laughed softly to herself.  "I remember now…"

          "What?" Suzanne asked.

          A spark of recognition flared in Ironhorse's eyes as well.

          "You do too, don't you, Colonel?" Emma said softly.

          He nodded, a small, crooked smile lifting the pain off his face.

          She patted his shoulder.  "Get some rest, dear.  You're with friends now."

          His eyes closed and in seconds he was sleeping.

          "Do you know Paul?" Suzanne asked.

          Emma nodded.  "But that's not the name I remember."

          "Ironhorse," Harrison said, assuming the Colonel had blustered his way through her life sometime while she was in Vietnam.

          "Yes," the old woman nodded.  "That's it.  I remember an Ironhorse, a green second lieutenant in, oh, '70 or '71, I think it was."  Her voice dropped as she was caught up in the memories.  "There'd been a lot of local activity, and casualties were high…"  She walked over to the only chair in the room and sat down, taking a sip of her now cold coffee.

          Harrison slid down to sit on the floor, his back against the cabinets.  Suzanne leaned next to him.

          "We'd been going straight for close to three days.  I can't even guess at the number of young men we lost.  It was horrible.  There weren't enough nurses and medics to sit with the dying and work on the ones we thought we might be able to save, so I was there with the ones we'd triaged as hopeless… there were so many."

          She sat the cup aside, and gave the pair a shaky smile.  "That was the worst war.  But I was going to tell you about a particular second lieutenant, wasn't I?"

          Harrison nodded, realizing he was about to hear a very different story than he'd expected.  _Assumptions are fraught with danger_ , he reminded himself.

          "We received word that three squads had been caught in a crossfire, and they were bringing them to us.  By the time they arrived more than half were already dead.  We looked the others over and two went in to wait for the next available surgeon, the rest waited for a nurse since they were ambulatory.  But there were five past our helping them… and then there was the last young man.  I asked if he was hurt and he shook his head.  He was trying so hard to be brave, but I could see the fear in his eyes."

          "Paul?" Suzanne asked softly, looking from the old woman to the sleeping soldier.

          She nodded.  "He followed me into the tent we'd set up for the dying outside the hospital.  I tried to throw him out, but he said he had to see one of the men in his unit.  He knew why they were out there and to be honest, I was too tired to argue with him.  He went over to his squad members and he sat with them, talking, until they were all gone.  He held their hands, listened to what they wanted him to write to their parents or wives – and I believe he carried out every one of those instructions."

          "I'm sure he did," Harrison whispered, staring at the sleeping man and seeing him new.

          "After they were gone, he stayed.  We were getting the last wave of wounded in, and everyone was dead on their feet, but he never faltered.  When I didn't have the energy to stand any longer, he helped me into a chair and then he sat with those soldiers until death took them out of that nightmare.  He was so young, so very young – a child, really.  I remember watching him, wanting to cry because no one that young should have to do or see that kind of thing, but I just couldn't.  It was selfish, I know, but I was so relieved that I wasn't alone that I just couldn't cry."

          Emma pushed a single tear off her daintily wrinkled cheek.  "When it was over, I found out that the Lieutenant had taken a piece of shrapnel in the lower back, just above his hip.  He must have been in agony, but he never said a word, never made any move that gave away the injury.  We never would have known about it at all if he hadn't passed out cold."

          Suzanne shook her head, brushing at her own tears.  "That sounds like our Colonel."

          "I can see why you remembered," Blackwood said, his voice catching.  "A man like that would be hard to forget."

          Emma smiled.  "Oh, but that's only half the story."

          They fell silent when a knock sounded on the door.  Coleman leaned in, announcing, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to drop off this fresh coffee.  And, the rest of the team's back with the two bastards who did this. Oh, and Derriman contacted Mr. Drake."

          "Thank you," Harrison said, and the sergeant nodded.  Carrying in the coffee, she cast a worried gaze at the Colonel.  "Don't worry," he said.  "You can tell the others he's doing fine."

          She nodded and left.

          "What happened then?" Suzanne asked, curious to hear more about the side of Ironhorse she knew was there, but had yet to see much of.

          "Well, he had a two-day stay with us and then he returned to his unit. I never expected to see that young lieutenant again, although I prayed for months that he'd make it back home whole.  But I did see him again, toward the end of the war.  I think it must have been '72 or maybe '73.

          "There was still a lot of action going on, plenty of wounded crossing our tables.  We received word that a Special Forces squad had gotten pinned down coming back from a mission.  The unit was taking heavy fire and a dust-off was going to pull them out."

          "A dust-off?" Suzanne interrupted.

          "A flight of medevac choppers to pick up the wounded.  There was radio damage, so we didn't know exactly what to expect.  We did what we always did, and prepared for the worst.  My people were ready when they arrived, and none of us could believe our eyes when I saw those boys climbing off the choppers under their own power.  We were watching a miracle, and the soldiers seemed about as shocked as we were.  I kept hearing:  'The captain did it,' or 'He got us out, just like he said he would.'  I wanted to meet that captain.

          "You have to understand, it really was a miracle.  Oh, they had injuries, but they were ambulatory.  I counted seventeen.  That left three.  At first I thought they must be dead, but then two of our medics pulled out a man, laid him on a gurney, and rolled him to the surgery.  That left two.  That's when I saw my second lieutenant again, only by now he'd been promoted to captain."

          Emma stood and walked over to Ironhorse.  She felt his cheek for a fever, but his skin was still cool.  She smiled down at the sleeping man, then returned to her seat, took a sip of the fresh coffee and continued.

          "He was holding a boy, oh, no more than eighteen or twenty, I'd guess.  He and the medics got the boy on a second gurney, but the captain didn't move away.  They headed for the surgery and I yelled at him to get the hell out of the way so my people could work.  The look in his eyes was something I've never forgotten.

          "When I saw him here, it started to come back to me.  I've been trying to remember…  You see, that injured boy was just like the ones he'd sat with while they died – same age, same innocence and potential being lost to death.  In the attack, a mortar had torn the boy's throat open and severed the vein.  The captain had reached in and was holding that vein closed, keeping the boy from bleeding to death.  If he'd let go, that child would have died.

          "When he heard me, he was sure I was going to classify that corporal as 'no-hope.'  The pain in his eyes shook me like an earthquake.  We went into surgery, me, the corporal, and the captain…  When they got a clamp on the vein I took him out.  He was covered with the boy's blood, but he looked at me and thanked me for giving him a chance."

          She laughed sadly, shaking her head.  " _He_ gave the boy a chance… but it wasn't enough.  There was brain damage.  He died on the table, but it wasn't because he bled to death.  That was the first time I allowed myself to cry in-country."

          "How did Paul take the news?" Suzanne asked, her voice a pain-filled whisper.

          "I found him in the chapel.  I think he knew the boy was going to die.  He told me the private was Jewish and asked if his God would mind if he'd said prayers for him.  That young captain was still scared, confused – a boy himself at that moment.  I said no, that I didn't think God minded what we called him, or who did the calling.  That seemed to satisfy him.  He stood, in the bloody uniform, a man, an officer again and saluted my eagles before he walked out.  And that was the last time I saw him, until today."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dr. Gables, still slightly green from the chopper ride, checked the drip on Ironhorse's IV, and then stepped out of the treatment room to talk to the collection of people waiting.

          "It looks like he's going to be just fine.  I knew Emma would be able to handle this, and I really didn't want to leave Mrs. Johnson's newborn until I was sure he wasn't going to have any respiratory problems.  He was underweight and—"

          "When can we take him home?" Harrison asked anxiously.

          "Oh, tomorrow, I'd say.  He should see his own doctor and get on a physical therapy program for the leg and ribs as soon as possible.  And he'll need to stay on the antibiotics for another two weeks."

          Suzanne smiled.  "He'll be home for Christmas."

          "Best medicine in the world," Mrs. Story said.  "You take good care of him."

          "Oh, we will," Blackwood assured her.  "Whether or not he appreciates it."

          "Oh, he wanted to see someone named Derriman?" the doctor added.

          The sergeant stepped forward.  "That's me."

          "Keep it to ten minutes, if you would.  I'd like him to have as much rest as possible before he leaves."

          The Omegan nodded and slipped into the room.  Emerging a few minutes later he had a half-suppressed smile on his face.

          "What?" Blackwood asked.

          "Uh, nothing, Doctor.  The Colonel just assigned me a detail."

          "A detail?" Suzanne asked.

          "Yeah, collecting pine cones?"

          The two scientists burst into laughter.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Part II – The Peace of Christmas Day**

 

          Ironhorse sat in his office, his leg elevated on a small stool Mrs. Pennyworth had managed to locate somewhere in the Cottage.  He'd finished the report of the incident at North Peak for General Wilson, and was trying, without much luck, to concentrate on a biochemistry text – with or without the help of the project members, he _was_ going to understand more than every tenth word when they got into highly technical conversations about the aliens' physiology.

          A soft knock at the door interrupted his present battle with the fluid mosaic structure of membranes.  "Come," he called.

          The door opened and Debi stood shyly in the frame.

          His voice immediately softened.  "What can I do for you, Debi?"

          "It's almost time for dinner," she started, obviously trying to work up to something more important.  "And we've got all the pine cones on the tree now, and the presents are all there, too."

          He nodded.  "And?"

          She chewed her lip for a moment before she blurted out, "Are you mad at us?"

          He sat back, startled by her question.

          Harrison, also on his way to invite the Colonel to join them for dinner – and drag him out if he refused – stopped short of the door when he heard Debi's question echoing out of Ironhorse's office.

          "Debi, why don't you sit down," came Ironhorse's troubled reply.  The girl left the doorway and sat down in the chair across the desk from Paul.

          Blackwood weighed the ethical requirement that he leave the pair to speak in private against the need to understand better what had been bothering the man since they had brought him home from the Ridgeville Clinic.  He moved closer to the door and listened.

          "Why do you think I'm mad at you?" the soldier asked gently.

          "Not just me," she said, her pent-up frustration already spent.  Now she was a little frightened.  "At— At all of us."

          "I don't understand."

          The girl sighed.  "Ever since you came home, you've stayed in your room or in here."

          "I've been resting," Ironhorse explained.  "And I had to prepare a report for your uncle."

          "But you haven't eaten with us, or rested in the living room like Mom lets me when I get sick."

          Ironhorse cleared his throat.  It was obvious that he was holding back, and Harrison wondered if he would even open up to the girl this time.

          "I guess I've had a lot on my mind, Debi.  And it's easier to sort things out when I'm alone."

          Okay, that was an honest answer, but it didn't tell him anything.  _Press him, Deb_ , Blackwood thought.

          "What're you thinking about?" she questioned.

          Harrison silently cheered youthful curiosity.

          Ironhorse paused, clearly debating what how much he should say.  "Debi, what happened up on the mountain…"  He stopped, searching for the words to make her understand.  "It made me do a lot of thinking about the past, about who I am, and if I'm the right man for the job I do here."

          Harrison almost gave himself away with a sharp intake of breath, but was saved by Debi's outburst.  "Are you going to leave us?  Are you?"

          He heard Paul rise and walk around the desk and knew the soldier had taken up a position in front of the girl, leaning back against the edge of the desk, his hands on the top of the oak surface.

          "No, Debi.  I'm not leaving."

          _Thank God for that_ , Blackwood said silently.  Why had it even crossed his mind at all?  _I'm definitely going to have to talk to him about this one_.

          "You see," Ironhorse said softly, using the same storyteller's cadence as when weaving a piece of his history for the girl.  "While I was on the mountain, waiting for Omega Squad and your mother and Harrison to come help me, I was visited by an omen."

          "An omen?"

          _This is good, Debi, keep it up_ , Harrison silently encouraged her.

          "Yes.  You see, the Indians believe that every animal carries in its spirit a certain kind of power, a medicine.  While I was waiting, I was visited by Deer."

          "A real deer?"

          _Exactly my question_.

          "Yes," Ironhorse replied.

          "What kind of medicine does a deer have?" the girl asked, the confusion in her voice echoing that in Harrison's mind.

          "Deer carries gentleness, Debi.  She's also the symbol of unconditional love."

          The girl shifted in her chair, grappling with the information.  "And that's why you're thinking?"

          _Yeah, Colonel, answer that one if you would_.

          Ironhorse chuckled softly, the warm, rich sound startling the astrophysicist, he heard it so infrequently.

          "Yes.  I've been trying to decide what Deer and the mountain were trying to teach me."

          "Did you figure it out?"

          "I— I don't know.  I think so…" he trailed off.

          Harrison decided it was time to rescue the man before Suzanne and Norton arrived, wondering why it was taking him so long to bring the Colonel to dinner.  He did _not_ want to get caught eavesdropping.  Taking a deep breath, he knocked, then leaned into the room.

          "Hi.  Mrs. Pennyworth has dinner ready.  You joining us, Colonel?"

          Ironhorse opened his mouth to excuse himself, but Debi was already up, handing him the cane he was using while his leg healed.  "I guess so," he replied.

          "Good.  It's Christmas Eve.  A family should be together."  He turned and left before the soldier could respond.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dinner was a quiet success.  Ironhorse seemed more relaxed, as if he'd reached an inner peace with himself and what had happened.  Blackwood knew the man had struggled with his culpability in the incident, but he was sure the last few days had allowed Paul to realize that he had done everything he possibly could.  In fact, it was damned lucky he had been able to keep himself alive long enough for them to reach him.

          Harrison watched the man carefully as they left the table and retired to the now elaborately decorated living room.  He was still limping.

          Light from the roaring fire and the decorated Christmas tree cast the only illumination in the large room.  Ironhorse took up his usual position on the floor in front of the fireplace, resting his injured leg where the heat helped ease the stiffness.  The flames, casting shadows across his features, lifted years from the man's face, and at the same time etched it deep with the wisdom and understanding of an ancient race.

          Harrison took a seat in the nearby wingback chair, while Debi and Suzanne flopped down on the couch, the microbiologist's arms wrapped around her daughter.

          "That was wonderful, Mrs. Pennyworth," Suzanne said.

          "That's for sure," Norton agreed, rolling up next to the couch.

          "Thank you," Mrs. Pennyworth said, smiling at the group with her best matronly expression.  Setting down the case she was holding, she opened it and removed an old, well-worn autoharp.  Everyone, including Ironhorse, leaned forward slightly.  "I thought it might be nice if we sang a few Christmas carols before handing out an Eve present to everyone.  Then we can go to bed wait for old Saint Nick to pay us a visit."

          They smiled, knowing it would be her presents that were handed out that night.

          "Oh, awesome," Debi enthused, causing the others to laugh.  "What?" she asked, unsure if she should be mad at the adults or not.

          "Nothing, honey," Suzanne said, giving her a squeeze.  "We just enjoy remembering what it was like when we were your age and it was Christmas time."

          "That's right," Norton said.  "It's like magic!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blackwood saw the fleeting pain cross Ironhorse's face, and realized that Paul's memories might not be so magical.  He nodded to himself.  He had every intention of making this Christmas special.  "What did you have in mind, Mrs. P?" he asked.

          She sat down in the last chair and began strumming the instrument softly.

          "Noel!" Debi guessed correctly.

          Mrs. Pennyworth nodded and began to play in earnest, their voices rising to join hers.

          They worked their way through the twelve days of Christmas, blessed the merry gentlemen, followed the three kings, recited the first noel and jingled bells for over an hour.  After the first few songs, they each found their voice and the music grew rich and well textured.

          Ironhorse remained silent, but listened with a smile in his eyes.  It was enlightening for the soldier.  Harrison was a mid-range baritone, and Norton's tenor added an occasional ad-libbed note that gave away his Island origins.  Suzanne and Debi paralleled in clear soprano, and Mrs. Pennyworth's healthy alto hid most of the group's mistakes.

          Suggestions from the group never stumped Mrs. Pennyworth's fingers and she moved smoothly from one song to the next.

          Harrison grinned broadly as he suggested, "Deck the Halls if you would, Mrs. P."

          The woman nodded, but before she could begin, Ironhorse pushed himself to his feet, saying, "Excuse me."  They watched him go, the room falling into a tight silence.

          "Mom?" Debi whispered.

          "He'll be back," she said, kissing the top of the girl's head and hoping the words sounded more sure than she actually was.

          Mrs. Pennyworth strummed the strings and they began the song.

          Harrison sang, unsure if he was mad or worried, but both emotions faded when the song ended and the Colonel stepped back into the living room, carrying a well worn guitar.  No one spoke as he limped back to the fireplace, added a log and sat down, pulling the instrument into his lap.

          "You play the guitar?" Debi asked, her voice soft and full of barely controlled excitement.

          "I haven't in a very long time, Debi, so you'll have to bear with me."

          "Well, well, well," Norton said equally softly, his gaze catching Harrison's.  Drake winked.

          The astrophysicist grinned.  "What would you like to try?" he asked the soldier.

          Ironhorse looked up at Mrs. Pennyworth.  "Do you know 'The Peace of Christmas Day'?" he asked.

          She thought for a moment and started to strum the autoharp.  The deeper tones of the guitar joined hers and, after a few stumbles, smoothed out into a steady river of sound.  The older woman began to sing, the others listening to unfamiliar words that they found resonated deep within them.

          When they finished, Ironhorse smiled at the woman.

          "That was lovely," Suzanne said quietly, almost afraid to break the mood that had settled over them like spun glass.

          "Yeah, really pretty," Debi agreed.  "Where'd you learn that, Colonel?"

          The officer cleared his throat, a blush climbing up to his cheeks from under his shirt.  "I think I'll take the Fifth on that, Debi."

          "Aw, come on, big guy.  It can't be _that_ bad," Norton cajoled.

          "He's right," Harrison added.  "Let us in on the secret, Colonel."

          Ironhorse sighed heavily.  He'd known he was going to be in for this when he went for the guitar.  "Okay, I'll tell you, on one condition."

          "And what's that?" Suzanne asked, winking at her daughter.

          "That you _never_ mention it again."  When all the heads had nodded at least once, he explained.  "The last time I was home at Christmas time, I went with my mother to see my sister-in-law.  She has three children, and they had just bought a new Christmas album, and were playing it – over and over again, I might add.  That song was one of those.  I play guitar by ear," he concluded.

          "What album is it?" Debi asked, saving one of the adults from having to pry it out of Ironhorse.  "Maybe we can get it, too."

          Paul cringed and sighed again, the blush getting darker.  "Please, we _don't_ need a copy of…  John Denver and the Muppets," he finished quickly.

          "The Muppets?" Norton asked, breaking into a huge smile.  "Col—"

          "No comments, remember?" Ironhorse countered.

          The others all laughed, but didn't tease him any further.  They'd have plenty of chances for that later on – after they found a copy.

          Debi launched them into a rousing rendition of Rudolph, and when they finished, Ironhorse cleared his throat to catch their attention a second time.  Five pairs of eyes turned to stare affectionately.  He blushed slightly.  "I have a song I'd like to do.  I don't know if any of you will know it.  I heard it my third Christmas in Vietnam."

          "What is it called?" Mrs. Pennyworth asked.

          "'When the River Meets the Sea,' and I think it's a spiritual, not a carol."  He paused, as if waiting for the others to tell him no.

          "Go ahead, Paul," Harrison encouraged softly, seeing the young lieutenant Mrs. Story had introduced them to.

          Paul strummed the first few chords and then began to sing, his voice a slightly hesitant top-range baritone.  After the first few words, the hesitancy dropped away and he entered the song, voice and guitar growing stronger.

 

_"When the Mountain touches the valley,_

_all the clouds are taught to fly,_

_as our souls will leave this land most peacefully,_

_"Though our minds be filled with questions,_

_in our hearts we'll understand,_

_when the river meets the sea._

_"Like a flower that has blossomed,_

_in the dry and barren sand,_

_we are born and born again most gracefully._

_"Thus the winds of time will take us,_

_with a sure and steady hand,_

_where the river meets the sea._

_"Patience my brothers, and patience my friends._

_In that sweet and final hour_

_truth and justice will be done._

_"Like a baby when it is sleeping,_

_in its loving mother's arms,_

_what a newborn baby dreams is a mystery._

_"But his life will find a purpose,_

_and in time he'll understand_

_when the river meets the sea,_

_"When the river meets, the almighty sea."_

 

          When he finished, he let the last chord die away before looking up again.  Harrison leaned forward, patting him on the shoulder.  "You have surprised me again, Colonel."

          Ironhorse smiled at the use of his own words against him.

          Mrs. Pennyworth picked up with "Silent Night" and this time Paul joined in with the rest of them.

          When their voices were rough from overuse, Mrs. Pennyworth set the autoharp back into its case and walked over to the tree.  Bending down, she pulled out a bright red bag full of individually-wrapped gifts and, walking back, handed out one to each of her charges.

          Debi tore into hers, opening the small box to find a pair of lapis lazuli earrings.  "Oh, wow!" the girl breathed.  "Look, Mom!"

          "They're lovely, Mrs. Pennyworth."

          "She's getting to be a young woman," the older woman replied.  "I thought she might like something a little more… mature."

          "I'll have to get my ears pierced now, won't I, Mom?"

          The others stifled grins as Suzanne kissed the top of the girl's head.  "Yes, I guess you will.  You're growing up too fast, Chicken."

          "Ah, Mom…  Open yours!"

          Suzanne unwrapped her box with an enthusiasm only slightly less than her daughter's and found a larger, more complicated pair of lapis earrings waiting for her.  "Mrs. Pennyworth, you really shouldn't have."

          "Now, I know what's best, remember that," she corrected.

          Norton revealed his box next.  His face, at first shocked, quickly grew ecstatic.  He picked the gift up and turned it so the others could see.  It was a portrait of a very large family.

          "Your brothers and sisters?" Suzanne asked.

          "Yep, and Mom, all the nieces, nephews, cousins _and_ grandkids.  I love it!  Thank you, Mrs. Pennyworth!"

          "You're quite welcome.  And your sister, Alliah, would like it if you'd come for a visit.  It seems your youngest brother is trying to follow in your… wheel tracks."

          Norton laughed and shook his head.  "One of these days Winston is going to break into _my_ computer, and then we're all going to have a lot of explaining to do."

          Mrs. Pennyworth opened one of the presents.  "I was going to give this to Mr. Kensington."

          "What?" Debi asked, her voice going to a soft, hurt-filled whisper.  She still missed the retired Major.

          The older woman removed another photo and turned it so the others could see.  It was a much younger Thomas Kensington in an Army uniform and he was shaking the hand of President Eisenhower.  "That was his proudest moment, a thank you from the President himself for his work during the 1953 invasion," she whispered.

          "We'll hang it up in here," Harrison said, and the others nodded their agreement.

          "Well?" Norton said, looking at the two men near the fireplace, hoping they could regain the festive mood again.

          "Oh!" Harrison said, opening a very small green box he'd forgotten about while he watched the others.  When he removed the lid, his eyes widened and his hands began to shake.  Reaching in, he removed an Indian arrowhead that had been made into a tie clasp.  The others watched the astrophysicist with curiosity, knowing the man avoided ties like they were bubonic plague carriers.

          Turning moist eyes on the woman, he was barely able to squeeze out a single word.  "How?"

          Mrs. Pennyworth glanced once at Ironhorse, and then said kindly, "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I'm going to have to borrow one of the Colonel's expressions.  That, I'm afraid, is need to know.  Merry Christmas, Harrison."

          Blackwood stood, walked over and gave the woman a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  "Thank you, Mrs. P," he whispered in her ear.  "Thank you so much."

          "What is it?" Debi asked.  "A real arrowhead?"

          "Yes, Debi, it is," the curly-haired man said, regaining some of his composure.  "In fact, I found it myself when I was three years old.  My parents and I were out on a picnic, in Colorado, I think it was.  I wandered off and found it.  My mother had it made into this tie clasp for my father for Christmas.  He said it was his favorite gift because it was from both of us.  I don't know where you found it, but it's wonderful."

          Mrs. Pennyworth brushed her handkerchief across her eyes and nodded.

          "Okay, Colonel, what did you get?" Debi prodded.

          "Not just yet," Ironhorse said, reaching into his back pocket.  Pulling out a plane ticket, he handed it up to the woman.

          "Now, what's this?" she asked.  "I'm supposed to be passing out the presents here."

          "Merry Christmas, Greta," he said by way of an explanation.

          She opened it, her face a study in puzzlement.  "I don't understand.  This is a plane ticket to Germany?"

          Paul nodded, and handed her a second envelope.  "There's a letter in here that will explain it better than I can."

          She opened the second envelope, and read, one hand flying to her mouth.  "Oh! Oh my.  Otto Helmuth.  I don't believe it.  I thought he was killed—"

          "Who's Otto Helmuth?" Harrison asked.

          Mrs. Pennyworth sat down.  "Someone I was once very close to, before I met my husband.  He was…  Well, he was very dear to me.  I've thought he was dead for almost forty years, but he was working for us, as a deep cover mole.  Now he's finally come home.  Thank you, Colonel Ironhorse…  Paul."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "My pleasure, Mrs. Pennyworth.  Enjoy your vacation.  You've certainly earned it, putting up with all of us."

          "Oh, I will."

          "Come on, Colonel," Norton said, his grin like a Cheshire cat's.  "Open yours so we can all see what it is."

          Ironhorse turned the package over in his hands, trying to guess the contents, then, with more care than the others, he removed the wrapping paper and opened the lid.  Inside sat an old book, bound in cracked and age-colored leather.  His eyebrows climbed with curiosity and the others smiled conspiratorially.

          Cautiously he opened the cover and read the inscription.  " _Diary of John Ross, June 1837- December 1838_."  His head came up and he leveled a shocked expression on the older woman.  "John Ross was once a chief of the Cherokee Nation.  This diary would cover a part of his life while the Nation was being moved from Georgia to the Indian Territory."

          "That's the 'Trail of Tears,' isn't it?  I remember the book you gave me to read about that," Debi said.

          "Yes, Debi, it was.  Mrs. Pennyworth, _where_ did you find this?  It looks like the original."

          "It is," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "As I explained to Dr. Blackwood, my methods are my own, Colonel.  I'm just happy that I found it.  I was running out of ideas for you."

          A chuckle rumbled through the room, embarrassing the soldier.

          "This is a piece of history," the Colonel said solemnly.  "One day it should be given to a museum."  He looked at her and smiled.  "But for now I think I'll enjoy playing the role of caretaker."

          Then, each with their treasure, the residents of the Cottage headed off to their beds.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison sighed, looked at the digital clock and shook his head.  It was midnight. He lay for a moment, wondering if he'd really heard sleigh bells, but the only sound to reach him now was that of someone moving around in the living room.  He listened to the French doors open and someone step out onto the porch.

          Rising, Blackwood pulled on his sweats and jacket before going down to see who else was having trouble sleeping.

          He found Ironhorse seated in one of the patio chairs, his eyes searching the sky. Harrison grinned.  "You know, Santa won't stop if he sees you're still up."

          The dark head turned.  "I wasn't looking for Santa Claus, Doctor…"  He paused a moment, then added softly.  "I was just seeing how many of the constellations I could remember."

          The honest, open reply caught the astrophysicist unprepared.  "And how many was it?"

          "Most."

          "How were your men?" Blackwood asked, turning the conversation back to something safe.  He knew Paul had spent time with them after the exchange of Eve presents.

          "Fine.  Since they don't have families, they've made their own here."

          "Did you tell them they're supposed to come up to the house in the morning for Christmas breakfast and gifts?"

          "I did."

          "Good."

          They lapsed into silence, Harrison finally sitting down in the chair next to Ironhorse's.  "Colonel, where did you find my father's tie clasp?"

          Ironhorse arched an eyebrow at the man.  "What makes you—?"

          "Paul.  Please?"

          Ironhorse resumed his sky-gazing as he spoke.  "You remember the last trip I made to Washington?"

          "Two weeks ago."

          "While I was there, General Wilson told me that he'd located some boxes of items that had been confiscated from around the country.  Items that had survived the invasion of 1953.  By the way, the boxes are being shipped to us as soon as the paper pushers clear them.  They were buried in the Library of Congress."

          "And this was there?" he asked, turning the arrowhead over in his hands.

          Ironhorse nodded.

          "I asked if I could take a look and the General agreed.  I was thinking there might be some alien technology among the items.  That was in the box marked 'California.'"

          "But how did you know it was my father's?"

          "I remembered seeing it in a photograph you have.  The one of you and your parents in front of a cabin."

          "Oh."

          "When I saw it, I knew it belonged to your father.  I thought he'd want you to have it."

          "You?" Harrison asked, amazed.  "You stole top secret government property?"

          "Blackwood—"

          "That's okay, Colonel.  I swear I'll never tease you about this one particular breach in your perfect military demeanor."

          "Good," the man mumbled.

          "Can I ask you another question?"

          "Can I stop you?"

          "Have you made peace with what happened on North Peak?"

          Ironhorse nodded.  "My grandfather once told me that every mountain has a lesson to teach us, if we're willing to listen.  I listened, Harrison.  I listened, and I learned."

          Blackwood nodded.  "What was the lesson?"

          "Limitations, acceptance…" his voice dropped, "…healing and love."

          "Of others?" Blackwood asked respectfully, aware of the rare vulnerability Ironhorse was showing.

          "Yes," he replied softly.  "And of myself.  Sometimes the only way to dispel a fear is to accept and love that part which is fearful."

          "You're afraid?"

          "Aren't we all?"

          "That's not what I meant."

          "Let's just say that I have things I needed to face… to remember."

          "And now?"

          "And now I think you're asking too many questions for this time of night, Doctor."

          Harrison smiled across the darkness.  It was a start.  There was too much about this man he didn't know.  But little by little Ironhorse was opening up.  And maybe, just maybe, one day they'd be able to help each other over their nightmares.

          "You're a remarkable man, Colonel."

          "I'm just a soldier," was the indulgent reply.

          "No, not _just_ a soldier."  Harrison stood, offering his hand to Paul, who took it and allowed the scientist to help him to his feet.  "You're my friend."

          Together they walked back into the house.

          "Merry Christmas, Paul."

          "Merry Christmas, Harrison."

          They walked together in silence to the hallway, then parted, each heading to his room when the faint sound of sleigh bells echoed over the grounds.  They turned in unison, staring at each other in the dim light.

          "Do you hear that?" Ironhorse whispered, his expression like a small boy's.

          "Hear what, Colonel?"

          The soldier's expression returned to its soldier's mask, but there was still a touch of magic twinkling in the black eyes.  "Never mind, Doctor.  I must be more tired than I realized.  Good night."

          "Good night, Colonel."  Harrison watched the man limp off with a smile on his lips. 

          Returning to his bedroom, Harrison lay down again, wondering just how long Ironhorse would remain awake, listening for eight tiny reindeer landing on the roof.

          Probably as long as the astrophysicist did himself…

 

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

* ~ *

 

**The Peace of Christmas Day **[1]****

 

 

                   The garment of life be it tattered or torn,

                   The cloak of a soldier is weathered and worn,

                   But what child was this that was poverty born,

                   The peace of Christmas day.

 

 

                             The branch that bears the bright holly,

                             The dove that rests in yonder tree,

                             The light that shines for all to see,

                             The Peace of Christmas day.

 

 

                   A hope that has slumbered for two thousand years,

                   A promised that silenced a thousand fears,

                   A faith that has trammeled an ocean of tears,

                   The peace of Christmas day.

 

 

                             The branch that bears the bright holly,

                             The dove that rests in yonder tree,

                             The light that shines for all to see,

                             The Peace of Christmas day.

 

 

                   Add all the grief a people may bear,

                   The total of strife, and the trouble and care,

                   Then put them in columns and leave them right there,

                   The peace of Christmas day.

 

 

                             The branch that bears the bright holly,

                             The dove that rests in yonder tree,

                             The light that shines for all to see,

                             The Peace of Christmas day.

  


* * *

[1]   **Author's Note** :  "Where the River Meets the Sea" and "The Peace of Christmas Day" really are from the album _John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together._   So sue me!


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